


Make Me

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Begging, Caning, Dom/sub Undertones, Impact Play, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Sex, slight daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 22:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason and Bruce have an interesting portion of their relationship. Bruce has kinks that he's not comfortable exercising, ones that Jason loves, and it takes a lot of baiting for Jason to get him to let go. But he's gotten very practiced at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theLiterator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theLiterator/gifts).



> Hello! This is a gift for my darling friend, theLiterator. Happy (slightly belated) birthday, darling!

“Hey big guy.”

Bruce fights closing his eyes, fights giving a reaction, fights anything but a very brief flick of his gaze up towards the stairs to his right to confirm the figure sauntering down them. Helmet absent, leather jacket open over the splash of the red symbol on his armor, and slightly narrowed eyes matching a smirk that already screams trouble.

Jason.

Jason walks right over, a sway in his steps that has no right to draw his eye like it does. No right to make him want to turn and really look, instead of continuing his work. It would make more sense if it was any one of his past lovers — Diana, Selina, even _Hal_ — but Jason? Jason shouldn’t be able to make his concentration waver like it does, when the younger man leans on the back of his chair and crosses arms over his shoulders and behind his neck. He shouldn’t want to clench his jaw and lean his head back and _shudder_ in a way most certainly not born from fear at the breath against the side of his throat.

“Early night?” Jason murmurs, voice low and teasing and just between the two of them. “Or have you not gone out yet?”

He drags the last file in the temporary folder out to where it needs to be sorted, mentally sorts through the list of tasks in his head and opens some of the stored footage that needs to be reviewed. Sets it running at twice speed.

“Early night,” he grunts. “It’s quiet.”

The small hum of sound practically in his ear should _not_ slide right down his spine with sharp heat, and the way Jason’s gloved fingers brush against the back of his neck as the younger man shifts lingers a half second too long to be accidental.

“And the rest of the family? I didn’t see anybody come into the manor.”

He almost swallows before he catches himself, forces himself to _focus_ on the video playing out over the computer in front of him. “Dick and Stephanie are out with Barbara; Tim and Cass are with the Titans; Damian chose to stay the night with a school friend of his.”

“So…” Jason’s voice is low, drawing out the single syllable into something dangerous and enticing all at once. “What you’re saying is that you’re not expecting anyone home for the whole night, and you’re doing busy work?”

“It needs to be done,” he counters.

“Because _god forbid_ you ever take a fucking break,” Jason mutters, before his tone swaps to something low and mocking. “You didn’t want to just lay out in a bed, get something _hot_ to eat, maybe get a good couple hours of… _relaxation_ in?”

“Your definition of relaxation is different from mine.”

Then Jason is moving, shifting off his shoulders and spinning around the side of his chair, and his reactions catch up too slowly to stop Jason pushing a knee between his and leaning in and over him. No, it’s that he _hesitates_ in reaching forward and grabbing Jason’s arms to push him away, and by the time one of his hands is gripping Jason’s left upper arm and the other resting at his side it’s too late to do so without a real struggle. That would give away more than he wants to, and it’s already hard to keep from pulling Jason closer instead of holding him about a foot away.

Especially with the little wicked twist to the lips that hide that too-good tongue, and the pressure of Jason straddling his left thigh without any apparent shame or guilt. Jason has always seemed so very unconcerned with what Bruce thinks of him, even though Bruce is as aware as he could possibly be that it is a _lie_.

“Really?” Jason says, voice still hovering between mocking and enticing. “Cause I’m _pretty_ sure we agree on at least a couple points. And I mean, you have this house to yourself and you _don’t_ take advantage? That’s a fucking shame.”

“Language,” he corrects, almost automatically.

“Fucking bite me,” Jason snaps back, without missing a beat, and then grins with too much of a snarling edge to it to make it look friendly. “Why so still, B? I mean, people might think you actually _like_ having me on your lap or something, and god, how could you fucking live with yourself if people actually _knew_ the kinky shit you were into?”

He almost bites his tongue before he commands, “That’s enough, Jason. Get off.”

“Happy to; on you or did you have something else in mind?”

Jason’s grin is _wicked_ ; he bites back a sigh so it only comes out a slightly longer exhale.

“I have work to do,” he reminds Jason, pushing him back by the grip on his arm and shoulder until Jason slips off his lap and back to standing.

“Liar,” Jason answers bluntly. “Watching some old footage is barely work, old man, and it damn well doesn’t need your whole attention.”

He shouldn’t watch the way Jason slides around to his side with any more interest than being wary of a potential danger, but he does. Shouldn’t feel the desire to turn and meet that sinful mouth when it drops down next to his ear. Shouldn’t _react_ when Jason presses a hand to his shoulder and starts to speak.

“I think you just don’t like to admit you _want_ this, B. Don’t want to admit how hot under the collar it gets you to have me on my back. Don’t want to admit that I can get you to _snap_ —”

“ _Jason_ ,” he reprimands, realizing too late his automatic reaction is only proving Jason’s point. And also, that turning his head to deliver it has put them too close together for it to be even remotely innocent.

“ _Bruce_ ,” Jason taunts right back, smirking now, and _god_ but his gaze drops down when Jason’s tongue slides out to lick his lips.

“I have work,” he repeats, and swears it’s not just to remind himself.

Jason twists a little, and he sees it happen too slow to stop anything. Jason’s leg snaps out, hitting the connection of a cord not quite covered by the steel of the front paneling for the computer and knocking it loose. The whole thing dies with a whine, as his breath catches and a little bit of _anger_ sparks to life in his chest.

There’s a beat of silence, before Jason whispers, “ _Oops_.”

He shifts, turns a little more towards Jason as that spark burns a little brighter. “Jason—” he warns, and then he’s being cut off.

“Gonna lecture me, _daddy?_ ” Jason all but spits.

He moves without thinking about it.

One moment Jason is leaning down towards him, mouth too close to his and hand a hard pressure against his shoulder, and the next he’s slamming the younger man down across the console and wrenching one leather clad arm up high behind his back. Jason groans, but there’s a laugh in it and more than a little _heat_ too. Proof of that in the way Jason’s pushing back against him, other hand scrabbling at the console to get more leverage.

He takes half a second to breathe, to press his fingers into the pressure points of Jason’s wrist and hear him groan again. Right before Jason gives a rough chuckle that might be just a bit breathless.

“That’s your dirty fucking secret,” Jason hisses up at him. “All the kinks you’re into, all the fucking _filthy_ things you want to do to someone, that you _crave_ , but you haven’t got the balls to do this unless it’s _baited_ out of you.”

He grinds down on an automatic refusal, can’t deny it because that would nearly be a lie. It isn’t that he doesn’t have — hasn’t had — the courage to explore his own kinks, but that he knows what they are is beyond most people to tolerate, let alone enjoy. He doesn’t like to force that on anyone, doesn’t like to ever let it out of him unless—

“Goddamn you, Bruce, _do something_. Leave your fucking introspection out of this and do what you _fucking_ want to!”

Unless the target can _take it_.

He snarls down at Jason, fisting his other hand in the hair at the back of Jason’s head and shoving his face down against the console. “Keep your mouth shut,” he growls, as he lets go of Jason’s wrist and jerks at the back of the leather jacket.

Jason laughs, back arching as the jacket is wrenched down his arms. “You want me to shut up you better give me a _reason_ to, old man.”

He twists Jason’s head with a sharp yank, splaying his hand out over Jason’s ear and stretching a thumb out to hook in the corner of Jason’s mouth. Teeth close down over his glove, almost hard enough to hurt even with the protection, and he jerks a little harder at the edge of Jason’s mouth in punishment.

His free hand drops to Jason’s waist, jerking one hip up so he can reach underneath and unbuckle the belt. Jason bites down harder as he shoves the pants down to hobble his legs, hands pushing against the console and hips twisting back against him. It _looks_ like a struggle, except for the fact that Jason could be grabbing his wrist and getting free without all that much effort. It’s never been quite comfortable knowledge, but he _knows_ Jason, knows how the younger man works.

Jason will snarl and struggle for the rest of time, but he won’t _fight_ unless he really wants out. It still thrills a too-dark part of Bruce to think, even briefly, that he is actually subduing Jason.

“Stay still,” he orders, with a sharp swat of his hand that only succeeds in making Jason growl around his thumb. When he pulls his hand away and steps back, he’s not at all surprised that Jason immediately pushes up and twists, mouth somewhere between a grin and a snarl.

“ _Make me_ ,” Jason challenges.

He digs his fingers into a hidden compartment in the computer bank, pulling out a long, thin, black cane that Jason immediately focuses on. He swishes it through the air, twisting it in his hand, and gets to see Jason’s mouth flicker into a tight line as his eyes darken with hunger. That hunger gets more pronounced as he steps close again, holding the cane low at his side like it’s a weapon.

“I told you to stay _still_.”

He strikes, and Jason jerks forward into the console and yelps at the slice of it against his thighs. He doesn’t give Jason any time to recover, reaching forward with his free hand and grabbing a fistful of that black hair, dragging him into a sharp arch. A gloved hand flails back, wrapping around his wrist, and he gives it just enough time to make sure Jason isn’t actually trying to escape before pressing the cane to the sensitive crease where ass meets thighs.

The moment that he gives Jason to understand the threat is a gift. Then he orders, “Hands on the console.”

“Hah!” Jason barks, fingers digging into the armor protecting his wrist. “If you think I’m just going to fold over for you—”

He makes good on the threat, and Jason’s wordless shout as the cane meets his skin lights his own hunger. “ _Now_ ,” he growls, and Jason shudders, breath coming fast.

“Going to give me a fucking _complex_ for that goddamn voice,” Jason breathes, and then flashes a wicked smirk over his shoulder and digs his fingers in a little more purposefully, threatening pressure points. “Do it again, _daddy_.”

His teeth grind together, and he shifts to a slightly better angle. Then he tightens his grip in Jason’s hair, tugs _once_ as hard as he dares, and then strikes that same sensitive section with more force than before. Jason’s shout picks up into a sharp, short scream at the immediate second strike, and then dies into a loud whine on the third. He jerks at Jason’s hair again, and leans in to fit his mouth right against the younger man’s ear.

“Hands on the console,” he repeats, the edges of the Batman voice coming into his tone. “Don’t test me, Jason. You’ll _lose_.”

He can feel the hard shudder, and then Jason lets go of his wrist, hands coming forward to brace against the computer. “Maybe that’s why I do it,” Jason answers, voice coming out just a little breathless. “Or maybe I’ve just got some fucked up thing for getting fucked while you’re in that suit, B. Maybe I like it when you can’t fucking figure out which version of you you want to be and I get it _all_.”

Jason gasps when he strikes again, lower on the thighs and with much less force. Just enough to hurt.

“Watch your language. You’ve already earned yourself enough punishment; _do not_ press me any further, boy.”

The laugh is sharp, and Jason twists his head against the enforced arch and presses back into his hand. “I’ll push you as far as I _goddamn_ want to, old man. You want me to hold my tongue? Stop fucking around and _make me_ , you sadistic motherfucker. Or have you forgotten how to make a mouthy boy _shut up?_ ”

Bruce shoves Jason down onto the console, moving his hand to press right between Jason’s shoulder blades and hold him down. He gets a grunt for the impact, before he adjusts the cane in his hand to a looser grip and then immediately strikes. Jason jerks, shoulders rolling back, with a long groan. He waits half a moment, letting the initial tension slip back out of Jason’s muscles, before hitting again. Repeats that a dozen times, hitting a new line of skin with every slice and getting groans and the occasional yelp when he hits a little harder.

Then pauses, slowly trailing the tip of the cane up Jason’s right thigh. It gets him a small shiver, a hitch of breath, so he traces the length of one reddening line for the harder twitch. He eases the pressure of his hand on Jason’s back, trailing it up until he can get a firm grip on the back of his neck instead.

“Where’s that mouth now?” he asks, keeping his voice low and dark.

Jason presses up into the hold for a second, back curving into a slight arch. “Why? You fucking tired already, B? I thought—” Another strike. Harder. “Ah! Shit! Thought you had _stamina_ , old man.”

He lets the cane rest again, as he tightens his grip on Jason’s neck. “If you’ve got the attitude to curse then you can take _more_.”

Jason gasps at the next strike, and then jerks when he doesn’t wait that half a moment to strike again, and again, and _again_ , until Jason’s cringing against the console and almost _shrieking_. He doesn’t stop until his ears catch a sharp hitch of breath, followed by a high-pitched whine that shakes a bit. He stops, pushing the cane into the slight gap between his belt and armor and then raising that hand to his mouth. Jason trembles, breathing in hard, shallow gasps as he clearly waits for the next strike.

He unbuckles his glove with his teeth and sets it aside, then slides the hand on Jason’s neck up to curl in his hair again. He pulls up, steady but uncompromising, forcing Jason to brace on his hands and bow into an arch. That lets him get a look at Jason’s face, at the part of his mouth and the glint of tears at the corners of his squeezed shut eyes. Jason’s expression clearly reads pain, but there’s a lot more to it than just that.

He lowers his bare hand to graze over the red lines he’s raised, tracing the length of them as Jason flinches and gasps. Then he slides his hand lower, down between Jason’s legs, to confirm the hard swell of his cock. No surprise there. He gives it a few strokes, gets a shuddering groan from Jason that makes his own erection ache. Ignoring it comes easy enough; he’s had practice.

“Bruce,” Jason breathes, some of the tension held in the muscles of his thighs relaxing. “Fuck, _Bruce_.”

He immediately draws away, giving Jason a _hard_ open-handed swat that gets him another yelp. “Language,” he corrects, _again_. “I remember telling you that you’d lose if you pressed me.”

Jason shudders, but his hands are curling against the computer’s console. “Thought I told you that’s _why I do it_. Come on, _daddy_ , finish what you started.”

There’s a heavy note in Jason’s voice that’s still challenge, _heat_ spirals down his spine, and he leans in so he can growl right in Jason’s ear, feel the little catch of breath and the shiver. “You want _more?_ ” he demands. “ _Beg_ me, Jason. Beg me to pick that cane up and beat you till you’re screaming.” Jason whines, and he tugs hard at the black hair between his fingers and slides his hand back down to get a decent grip on Jason’s balls and tug a little at them too. The whine goes up in pitch. “Don’t you _lie_ to me, boy; I know exactly what you want. _Beg_ me, and when I’m done I’ll get you off. Otherwise…”

He jerks Jason’s head back a few inches, gets the lobe of Jason’s ear between his teeth, and bites down _hard_ for just long enough to be sure his teeth leave an imprint that will stick around. He lets go of Jason’s balls, sliding his fingers up and back to press in at the tight ring of muscle higher up.

“Otherwise, maybe you need to spend a few hours tied up and on edge so you can remember what _obedience_ is like. I’m sure we could find something that could keep your attention.”

Jason shakes, pushing back against his hand and whining again. “ _God_ ,” he says, and his voice cracks in the middle of the word. “ _Jesus_ , Bruce, I— I— Yes. _Please_ , yes. _Please_ hit me again, please. Don’t stop, please. God, fucking _break_ me, B. _Please_.”

He almost shudders himself, but manages to rein it in.

“That’s it,” he says instead, as he slowly pushes Jason down to lie flat against the counter again. “There’s my good boy.”

He shifts back to the side, pulling the cane back out of his belt and lowering it to lightly touch Jason’s thighs. Jason shivers, but doesn’t tense up or move away and that pulls a small smirk from him. He lets the anticipation build for a moment, then pulls the cane away and strikes with no other warning. Jason rocks forward a little, but the shove of breath he gives seems as much pleasure as it is pain.

The endorphins have kicked in.

With that in mind he goes to work, finding new spots of Jason’s thighs and ass that he hasn’t marked yet, and ramping the pain slowly but steadily, without any sharp jumps. At least to start with, and until Jason is moving up against his hand, rocking up into the strike of the cane with the same movements he would if it were someone behind and inside him. Bruce has seen that particular roll of hips enough to recognize it.

Then he puts more force behind it, shifting his grip to press between Jason’s shoulder blades again as the younger man starts to squirm and jerk against the blows. He listens to Jason’s noises with desire burning in the pit of his stomach, but pushes that away to focus on getting exactly the reaction that he wants.

And eventually, it happens.

Jason jumps sharply at a particularly hard blow, hands shoving against the console as he cries out in clearly _exquisite_ pain. He gives Jason a moment to recover from that one, to uncoil, and does it again. That one gets a short scream, and when he glances down he can see a thin line of blood starting to snake down Jason’s thigh from the strength of the blow; the rest of the line reddening in a way that his senses say will probably turn into a welt.

He slides his hand up, tunnels it through Jason’s hair and tugs in smooth, sensual little circles.

“One more.” He controls his voice, makes it come out in the rough, low, rumble that Jason likes so much. “Ask me for it, Jason.”

It takes a few seconds for Jason to understand him, and then another where he shudders and his mouth parts in a helpless little cry.

“ _Please_ ,” Jason all but sobs, his back arching and legs straightening in a way that makes Bruce’s mouth dry. “Please, one more time. _God_ , one more time, B.”

He shifts his grip on the cane, eyes the stripes decorating Jason and chooses a spot not too badly marked just yet. Then he swings the cane; hard, fast, and _sharp_ as it connects with Jason’s skin. He gets another scream, muffled into the computer’s console, as Jason goes tense and tight.

“Breathe,” he reminds Jason, setting the cane to the side and running his fingers over the younger man’s scalp. His other hand he slides back down between Jason’s legs, reaching to get a grip and start stroking. Jason whines, but pushes into his hand like he’s desperate for the touch.

He probably is.

“That’s my good boy,” he praises. “So close, aren’t you? Come for me, Jason. _Break_ for me.”

And Jason’s twisting, pushing into his hand and up against the fingers in his hair and _sobbing_ as he spills into Bruce’s hand. He’s shaking, and Bruce swallows away the desire crawling up his throat — to shove his fingers into Jason and take him _now_ — and carefully lets go of the younger man.

“I’m right here,” he reassures, before Jason can even start to protest the lack of touch. “I’ve got you, Jason. You’re safe.”

Quickly, with practice and just a bit of manhandling, he gets Jason’s mostly limp form stripped all the way down. Next he digs into a larger hidden compartment in the base of his chair and pulls out a blanket. Finally, he pulls Jason up off the computer and into his arms, and half carries him over to the chair to make the younger man comfortable in his lap. Bruce drapes the blanket over him, making sure those long legs are completely covered but it’s not confining — a delicate line — before pulling Jason in against him and settling in to wait.

Jason’s trembling, head tucked in against his neck and shoulder, and he lightly strokes Jason’s hair and the length of his shoulders in comfort. He thinks of humming, or talking, but ultimately decides that he’s less likely to say something damning if he’s not actually speaking. So he just presses his face to Jason’s hair and holds him, letting him come down from the endorphin high on his own time.

Eventually Jason shifts, one hand pressing against the armor he’s still wearing and curling into a loose fist over the center of the Bat symbol. Then there comes a deeper exhale, and a soft groan.

He hesitates a bit before asking, softly, “Are you alright?”

“You mean am I in pain?” Jason counters, and he almost smiles because that mocking note to his voice is back. “Yes, B, I’m in pain. That was the point.” A slightly shaky inhalation, before Jason shoves it out again. “I have two questions.”

He nuzzles the side of Jason’s head, presses a soft kiss just above his ear. “Go ahead.”

“ _One_ , how long have you been hiding a cane and a blanket down here, and two, are they staying? Cause jesus _christ_ , Bruce, I might have to come down and harass you more often if that thing is staying down here. _Or_ , you could just fucking beat me when you start getting grumpy and we could skip this whole ‘baiting you into it’ thing.”

A smile curls his mouth, and he gives a soft laugh and tightens his grip on Jason just a little bit. “We’ll see. Come on, Jason. Let me get you over to one of the cots and I can grab you an ice pack.”

“I don’t want a goddamn ice pack,” Jason grumbles, thumping the hand on his chest against his armor. “I want you to take me upstairs and fuck me within an inch of my life. Zen control or not, old man, I know you’ve gotta be fucking _aching_ down there.”

“Alfred—”

“ _Also_ gone for the night; which you didn’t tell me but I found out before I came down. So get me upstairs, because I will be _damned_ if I let you actually waste this golden opportunity to make as much noise as we want. Or fuck anywhere we want. I was kinda thinking the _entrance hall_ might be fun. Right there on the marble, right in front of the door. There’s gotta be at least a little bit of exhibitionism in that massive tangle of kinks you hide in there.”

He tugs Jason’s head back enough to look him in the eye, see the teasing edge to that gaze and smirk. “Jason, _hush_.”

Jason grins, and then, predictably, pulls against the grip in his hair and hisses, “ _Make me_.”


End file.
